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I had a cat named Arsenio (a big, black cat with no claws and no balls, as seen on TV), and whenever I lit a smoke, he would run to me from wherever he was in the house as soon as he heard my lighter, and insist on batting the flame out with his paw. After that, he'd lick his paw because, I think, he liked the taste of singed hair. I'd flick the lighter again, and he'd do it again. He may have been a fireman in an earlier life.
Arsenio cat also would habitually climb under my bedclothes when I was asleep and I'd wake up with his face buried in my crotch, kneading my stomach and purring. OK, he was a gay fireman before...
My remaining cat Alice, on the other hand, has a passion for the taste of my earwax. She likes to stick her rough tongue in my ear, or if I've just rubbed my itchy earhole with my pinkie, she HAS to lick it off. If I try to hold her away with my other arm, Alice kitty tries desperately to climb over it to get to that earwax, with this wild look in her eyes, reaching out and trying to clutch the earwax hand as if her life depended on it. It's like she's absolutely JONESING for it, so I relent, and she licks her fill and goes away... till next time, which, if my ear is still itchy, is 15 seconds later. I wonder if there's something in earwax that cats naturally need in their diet.
Also, Alice kitty has taken to playing fetch lately. I get these little (1" diameter) 25-cent rubber balls and when I huck one out of the room, she runs after it, comes back in with the ball in her mouth, jumps up onto the couch beside me, and drops it. I throw it again, and she keeps doing it until eventually the ball rolls under the stove or lands in a shoe or something. I'm sure that when I move or do a big cleanup, I'm going to find about 20 rubber balls in various places. Now here's the thing: Alice is going to be 18 in December. I never taught her this trick, and I don't know where it came from.
Both cats were raised on dry cat food and water, never canned stuff, so they shouldn't have associated the sound of the (manual) can-opener with "suppertime", but whenever I would open a can of anything, even vegetables and fruit, both would be there right underfoot, or even better, standing on their back legs with their bodies stretched up almost to the height of the countertop, meowing like crazy. Is there something about the sound of a can-opener that stirs some primal, hindbrain instinct in them that developed 20 million years ago during the Age of Prehistoric Kitchen Gadgets?
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